


serenity

by moanamakeway



Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, I'm Bad At Titles, Love Confessions, M/M, Out of Character, happy gays, i'm not good at writing characters, probably? idk i just assume that it's ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:26:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28612800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moanamakeway/pseuds/moanamakeway
Summary: quirrell and voldemort have their first anniversary :)
Relationships: Quirinus Quirrell/Voldemort
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	serenity

**Author's Note:**

> the original name for this fanfiction was "ode to alyssa" because i wrote this for my friend alyssa. alyssa if you see this, hello :) (i am aware that an ode is supposed to be a poem. this is, however, not a poem)

_ june sixth, 2006 (i know that that’s probably not the actual date but c’mon i had to make it 666) _

“And,” Voldemort sighed, avoiding Quirrell’s eyes, “while I was alone, I just...I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe with Quirrell...with Quirrell things would be okay.”

“Is okay good?” Quirrel said, hesitating ever so slightly. Voldemort finally looked at him, and it was like Quirrell was seeing him for the first time. That may partly be because he really didn’t get the chance to see him a lot after he got his body back, he thought, trying to ignore the anger he felt towards Bellatrix, but it was also largely because of the way Voldemort was looking at him. 

It was so hard to believe that this man had killed 1147 people - why Quirrell remembered that and every other fact Voldemort had told him about himself, he had no idea - because right now he looked like a puppy whose human had come home after a long day of being away. “Quirrell,” he said softly, and Quirrell bit his tongue to prevent himself from squealing at the tone of his voice, “okay is wonderful.”

Quirrell smiled at him, and he felt a warmth in his chest.  _ I love him,  _ he thought, and then he realised what he just thought. His smile dropped, and Voldemort tilted his head. “Are you okay?” he asked, trying to meet Quirrell’s eyes. Quirrell didn’t look up at him, but when Voldemort approached him and placed a careful hand on his back, he couldn’t help but lean into the touch. 

“What’s wrong?” Voldemort asked, petting Quirrell’s head (that he’d lain on Voldemort’s shoulder). Quirrell took a breath. “I love you,” he mumbled, and at first he thought he’d fucked up, because Voldemort froze and his grip on Quirrell’s shoulder tightened enough for it to be slightly painful, but then he loosened his grip and Quirrell felt a pair of lips pressing a kiss against his temple. “I think I love you too,” Voldemort said.

_ june fifth, 2007 _

“Go away!” Quirrell hissed. 

“Okay, I’ll go!” Voldemort said, smirking. He hadn’t been allowed in the living room of their little apartment all evening, and he was turning his disadvantage into an advantage by coming inside at random times to annoy Quirrell. So far it was working pretty well, but he knew that he had to be careful - Quirrell seemed kind of pissed. But then again, anything could be forgiven after Voldemort read him a few pages of one of those novels that Quirrell loved so much.

“You’re still here,” Quirrell remarked. Voldemort tried to peek over his boyfriend’s shoulder, but Quirrell quickly adapted and Voldemort sighed mock-frustratedly. “Come on, Quirrell, I haven’t been here all evening. Surely I can at least say hello to my beautiful boyfriend?” HIs smirk only grew as Quirrell blushed.

“Shut up,” he muttered, but of course Voldemort knew that he loved those little compliments. Voldemort took Quirrell’s hands in his own and kissed his knuckles. “I mean it. You haven’t even let me  _ talk  _ to you!”

Quirrell swallowed. “W-well, you wanted to say hello, didn’t you? You’ve said more than that by now, so can you just leave?” Voldemort leaned in and planted a kiss to Quirrell’s mouth. Quirrell returned it, but when he pulled away, he added a “please” to his previous question with a small voice. Voldemort withdrew slightly, still not letting go of his hands. “Fine, I’ll leave you alone.” Quirrell smiled wryly at him and squeezed his hand.

The next day, Quirrell woke up with Voldemort snuggled against him. He smiled slightly, his fears of Voldemort being mad at him gone. He tried to leave the bed, but Voldemort made a soft whimpering noise and slung an arm around him. “Fine,” Quirrell said quietly and he sat up, carefully moving Voldemort so his head was in his lap. He picked up his book and started reading. 

Despite his efforts to not wake Voldemort, he felt pale arms tightening around his body and heard Voldemort’s voice mumbling a tired “morning” after a relatively short time. “Good morning,” Quirrell said, combing his fingers through Voldemort’s hair. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the almighty dark lord lying in his lap, all sleepy and adorable. 

“‘S our anniversary, isn’t it?” Voldemort asked, sitting up and leaning heavily against Quirrell. The latter nodded happily, feeling a bit warm at the thought that it was the first thing Voldemort remembered in the morning. 

“Well, can I go to the living room today?” Quirrell chuckled and cupped Voldemort’s cheek. “Yes, Voldemort.” Voldemort hummed and leaned into the touch. “Good.”

It took forty-two minutes, two very short naps by Voldemort, a lot of complaining about hunger from Quirrell and even more cuddling, but eventually they got properly dressed and went to the kitchen. Voldemort was very interested in the new cage-like shape with a black cloth draped over it in the living room, but Quirrell took his hand and pulled him to the kitchen before he had the chance to ask any questions.

“Quirrell,” Voldemort almost whined, dragging out his lover’s name. Quirrell continued to devour his sandwich, but he briefly looked up at Voldemort before returning his gaze to a scratch on the table that greatly annoyed Voldemort. “Hm?” he asked through his mouthful of food.

“What’s in the living room?” Quirrell smiled, knowing full well that he was annoying the shit out of Voldemort. He swallowed. “You’ll find out,” he said. Voldemort sat back and folded his arms in amazement. Really, when he met the anxious nerdy teacher he hadn’t expected him to be this... frustrating. He’d expected him to obey every one of his orders, and maybe have some moral objections against them, but this? If he wasn’t hopelessly in love with Quirrell (and also needed him to stay alive) he would have killed him a long time ago. He suspected that Quirrell knew this, and that it was satisfying to him. The bastard.

“If you don’t tell me what it is now, I will...kiss you! On the mouth, while you’re eating!” he threatened. 

Quirrell just laughed.

Voldemort got up, and wrapped his arms around Quirrell from behind, planting kisses to his hair and neck and everywhere, really. Quirrell giggled and tried to fight him off but, of course, failed miserably. When he started coughing and it sounded a lot like he was choking on his sandwich, however, Voldemort retracted his arms and gave his lover some time to recover. When he was breathing normally again and not coughing, Voldemort hugged him once again, and this time Quirrell leaned into it. He closed his eyes and sighed contently.

“Can we go to the living room now?” Voldemort mumbled against Quirrell’s neck. Quirrell nodded instinctively, and Voldemort smiled triumphantly. “Finally.”

Voldemort let go of Quirrell and offered his hand for Quirrell to take. He gladly did so, and when the two entered the living room, Voldemort’s excitement was immeasurable. 

“You can take off the cloth,” Quirrell said. Voldemort squeezed his hand excitedly and used the other one to dramatically pull the cloth from the rectangle shape and he squeezed his hand even tighter, without realizing it, when he saw what was under the cloth.

A very good looking terrarium with an even better looking black snake in it. It seemed to be asleep, and Voldemort found himself staring at it in wonder and subconsciously making an O-shape with his mouth. He looked at Quirrell, who was staring at him nervously. “Quirrell,” he said with an unstable voice, “did you do this for me?” 

Quirrell nodded. “Do-do you like it?” 

Voldemort squeezed his hand. “Quirrell, I love it. Do you have a name for them? For the snake, I mean.” Quirrell fumbled with Voldemort’s hand, rubbing his thumb over its back. “I was thinking about Aphrodite, but if you don’t like it, then you can name her something else, I-”

“Quirrell, it’s wonderful.” 

Quirrell smiled. “I’m glad you like it.” Voldemort smiled back at him, and Quirrell felt like that look in his eyes was going to kill him right there. It was so tender, so soft, so unlike a man who’d killed over a thousand people. It wasn’t what he’d expected from Voldemort when he demanded to attach his soul to Quirrell’s and be a parasite at the back of his head, that’s for sure.

Voldemort stepped closer to Quirrell, taking his free hand in his own. They stood there for a little while, and then Voldemort let go of one of Quirrell’s hands, and he cupped his cheek. Quirrell smiled at him, and Voldemort’s heart jumped like it always did when Quirrell smiled. “I love you,” he said. Quirrell didn’t say anything back, but he pulled Voldemort in for a hug and it said more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize for the lack of kissing, i just don't know how to write kisses


End file.
